


Parabellum

by Anmltz



Series: Setting Sun [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1240183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anmltz/pseuds/Anmltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after WWII ends with the Axis' victory, Lawrence Packham provides some insight into what das Territorium von England has become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parabellum

**Author's Note:**

> Probably should be read after Setting Sun; it might seem a bit random otherwise.
> 
> I pretty much wrote this at 2am on a Thursday night when I had uni bright and early the next day. It follows from "Setting Sun" but if you're not overly fond of OCs in your fanfiction (and I'm usually not), this might not appeal to you. It's just supposed to provide a snapshot of what England (the land, not the country) has become, I suppose.

_-The worst thing is that England can feel them. As they grow; a little spot of warmth in his left thigh, his right forearm and just to the left of his navel. They flicker with heat and he hopes for them, fears for them, daren't let his feelings show. -_

Lawrence Packham had lost his father in the war. He had been a brave man, so his mother had said, had given his life for King and Country. A King killed twelve years ago and a country-turned-territory ( _"das Territorium von England" they called it_ ). Wasn't it all pointless then? Heavens no! His mother would say, he was a noble man, paying the ultimate sacrifice in an attempt to keep his family, his home, safe. She was killed six months after the war had ended, after Germany had invaded, in the initial panic, anarchy and riots following the graphic, very publicised butchering of the King, his family and the members of parliament. His sister had become wild, joined rioters who cared only for themselves and had eventually fallen into prostitution in her desperation for food. She had heard of the crowd he had gotten in with, "I don't like the sound of that, Rent, not one bit." She had only been concerned, but he had snapped a cutting retort, "says the whore". She had slapped him and he hadn't seen her since.

Now Lawrence stares morosely ahead for other eyes as he trudges through what remains of Manchester, trying to look as though he was wandering as aimlessly as those around him, makes sure to keep a firm grip on the few coins he has as a group of hard eyed children jostle past him. He meanders his way around a bend, into an alley, one of the few places in the city CCTV can't see. He nods at a man, sat slouched against a bloodstained wall, clad in rags but fortunate enough to have a solid looking coat as he desperately smokes the butt of a cigarette. The man returns the nod and points the stubbly remains of the once-cigarette at the steps leading down.

Lawrence knocks on the door in the Morse code for "SOS". It's opened and he joins seven revolutionaries ( _rebels, rabble_ ) crammed in a pub's small storage. They're missing a few, but given the current climate, that's to be expected. 

"Right lads! First order of business. We got that guard post, but it's about time we moved onto bigger things, don't you think? Raiding their ammunition stocks should shore up ours supplies nicely."

_-Because he fears (_ knows _) what will happen, what has happened to every other one before, but he can't help that flicker of hope.-_

There's a knock at the door, S-O-S. Lawrence checks his watch. Looks like they're late; they've already run through the basic plan and the blueprints are on the wall. Someone tears them down before another goes to answer door, "Code?"

A gruff voice on the other side of the door answers with "We've never had a code, y'tosser!"

Everyone in the room relaxes but Lawrence.

The door swings open and suddenly the man ( _rebel, revolutionary, corpse_ ) who opened the door is on the floor, splattered with blood and the others are falling in sprays of bullets. 

It's all rather spectacular, Lawrence thinks, as the last one falls, making a run for the door to the pub. Rubbish, foolish, it'd be overrun by now. He glances over at the German forces scrabbling through the documents and papers, trying to save them from the red stain of blood, and throws his hands up as the commander turns his hand gun to him. 

"Don't shoot, you fool! Who the fuck do you think I am?"

The German commander lowers his weapon, "Ah, you are the informant?" in heavily accent English.

"Too right I am. We had a deal?"

"Of course. You have the sister? Do not worry, I am sure she will be taken care of."

The ominous wording has Lawrence's eyes snapping back to the man with a shiny metal pin "ETKG" ( _Englisch Territory Kooperationen Garde, or really, "The Guard" was good enough outside the ranks_ ).

"However," There, the death knell ringing in his ears, "I have been instructed that we are not to let any English leave this place."

Before Lawrence Packham could even draw breath to protest with, he had a 9mm Luger buried in his brain. 

_-And when that warmth expires, is snuffed out and suddenly there's this aching cold where before there had been such hope, England knows what's happened, knows as Germany enters his cell for the first time in years, slams the door, and pain blooms, knows he's too far from them for anything to happen, knows it'll only get worse, hates and hopes for those little spots of rebellion -_


End file.
